Diablo: The Hall of Heroes
by lyuboiv
Summary: A band of treasure-hunters face the greatest challenge in their life as they unearth the legendary Hall of Heroes - the resting place of artifacts such as the world of Sanctuary has never seen in millennia. But when you deal with such great powers, you should always keep in mind that fate might have other plans for you...
1. Chapter 1

This story was originally posted on the PlanetDiablo forums – an awesome community of Diablo fans, which, sadly, no longer exists. Still, I will keep many fond memories from this place and the people I met there :)

It was written mostly for fun, so it may seem a little hastily written in some spots, and some of the jokes may sound weird (sorry about that). If you are a fan of Diablo II, you will surely find many references to the game itself and its characters.

The story consists of 4 chapters and was originally written in 2012, though I have made a few edits in more recent times as well. Enjoy!

* * *

**Inspiration:** The Hall of Heroes itself is partially inspired by a dungeon from _Out of the Shadows_ – a book from the ancient "Dragon Warriors" series. It's an RPG book, similar to D&D in many respects. Very well written too!

* * *

**The Hall of Heroes**

A Diabolical adventure by L. Ivanov

* * *

**Chapter 1/4 – Legend of the Five**

The sun's dim rays could hardly break through the clouds and reach the frigid surface below. The short day could do little to warm these eternally frozen lands, far to the north of the great Mount Arreat, the very roof of the world of Sanctuary.

There was hardly any life in these parts, as even the barbarians, known for their supernatural endurance and survival skills, did not venture into the region. To them, it was known only as "the dead lands" – a place to be feared and avoided. And yet there were several small human figures, slowly trudging through the snow, making their way north. The barbarian tribes were rarely hospitable to visitors, yet these unlikely travelers were the kind that barbarians trusted the least – treasure hunters.

The man leading the group stopped for a second to check an old piece of parchment covered with what seemed to be a crudely drawn map and several paragraphs of text written in different languages. He squinted against it, then put it back into his pocket. He frowned – he could hardly feel his fingers in the biting cold. The man behind him stopped as well and pulled down the scarf that covered his mouth.

"Hey Basta... Bastaran, how much longer? Are we there yet?"

Bastaran, one of the most renowned adventurers, mercenary captains, and treasure hunters of the western kingdoms found out that, for the first time in his life, he could not give a clear answer. One could easily lose all sense of time and direction in this wasteland.

"We are getting closer," he said, not as much to convince his fellows as to reassure himself. He pointed towards a nearby natural ledge in the side of a steep snow-covered hill that towered above the rest of the landscape. "The night will fall soon. We'll make our camp there. We've had enough for today!"

The men grunted with approval and picked up the pace. A fire and some relatively warm food were the best cure for the exhaustion of a day's walk through this treacherous land. If only they had a few more sips of Bastaran's home-made brew, the evening could have been almost perfect. The mean drink was good for drinking, and even better as fuel, as it burned hotter than the fires of Hell itself.

The travelers' fire was the only light within the endless black sea surrounding them. The howling wind was the only sound besides their voices and laughs. Four figures sat around the fire, engaged in conversation.

"So, Basta," started a dark-skinned man with the appearance of a pirate from the Twin Seas, which wasn't quite far from the truth, "You do remember that you promised to tell us about that funny nickname of yours – the one you have in the village where you grew up."

"Damn it, Chaugran," Bastaran replied, "You just won't let it go, will you? All right then, listen up folks..." Bastaran stood up for a better dramatic effect. "Back in my village I am known not only as the best hunter and brewer in the entire region. For many years I have been known as... Bastaran the Fallen! A name earned after numerous nights of drinking contests that ended under the table."

The silence that followed was truly dramatic, until it was broken by the men's hysterical laughter.

"Bastaran the Fallen, eh?" replied a tall man wearing a medallion of the Kingsport merchants' guild, "Many times I have drunk to the point of falling down from my bar stool, yet no one has ever called me Baldric the Fallen... they would only go as far as to say – Hey, Baldric, you have fallen!"

"You forgot to mention how many times you fell off the horse... and you were quite sober then, weren't you?" added the fourth member of the group. With the hood removed, it was now clear that it was a woman, her long blond hair giving away her Amazonian descent, "It's good for you that your life doesn't depend on your skill with the bow and arrow. These shaky hands won't do you much good. Or the missing sense of balance."

"And still you keep mocking me, Alystra, even though I saved you from that band of barbarians that had you cornered a few days ago. Or perhaps you have already forgotten about that?" Baldric replied.

"If you saved anyone, it definitely wasn't me," Alystra smiled, "You just prevented those filthy men from having their arms and legs broken."

"This is all very nice and inspiring, "Bastaran interrupted, "But we do have a few important things to discuss. We are nearing our goal and it is time I told you exactly what we are after."

"The Hall of Heroes!" Chaugran exclaimed, "If it didn't sound so good, I would not have joined you. Merchant traffic through the Twin Seas is particularly rich during this time of the year. The loot in this place has to be exceptionally sweet if it can bring you all the way up here... and us as well."

"Indeed," Bastaran continued, "Now I want you to listen carefully because this is something big, above and beyond simple grave robbing, diving into sunken ships, breaking into the Sultan's palace or any other of our previous quests that you can think of. This is a lot more dangerous but the reward promises to be of legendary proportions."

* * *

Bastaran paused for a moment and looked at the sky. There wasn't a single star to be seen. This always made him sad.

"I am sure that you have all listened to epic legends of great heroes fighting evil and saving beautiful princesses. Most such tales usually involve three such heroes – a brave warrior, a charming scoundrel (just like you, Chaugran) and a talented wizard. Together they dispense justice, find fabulous treasure, and earn eternal glory. The only problem is – they are all fictional characters. The tales are entertaining, yet they never truly happened."

Bastaran paused again. He pulled a small parchment from his other pocket. There were five human figures drawn on it.

"Some legends, however, are unlike the other. There is more truth to them than you may think. They tell of an unusual party of five extraordinary heroes – an Amazon, a Necromancer, a Barbarian, a Sorceress, and a Paladin. It is said that these heroes would arise and band together in times when the world of Sanctuary is in great peril. Most of these tales are about past battles, and there is even one legend of a great conflict in the future, when the greatest evils of the Burning Hells will besiege our world, and the five heroes would assemble for the last time, to vanquish the enemies of all life!"

The speech had the desired effect. Bastaran's companions were standing completely still, listening to his story.

"The legend that we are interested in, my fellows, is the oldest of them all. It tells of the five heroes' exploits during the conflict known only as... the Sin War. That was a time when angels and demons walked among humanity, in disguise, trying to earn the favor of mortals for either side, in order to tip the scales of the eternal Great Conflict between Heaven and Hell. That was a time when humanity faced the greatest threat to its existence, and if it weren't for heroes like those five brave souls, our future might have been quite bleak."

The adventurers' impatience was clearly showing on their faces. Bastaran noticed that and moved on to the most important part of his story.

"In order to fight the growing influence of the Burning Hells, the heroes needed something to give them an edge, a decisive advantage over their relentless enemy. The enigmatic Archangel Tyrael, the only one of his kind to ever take the side of humanity and actively seek to help us in our struggle, shared some of his infinite wisdom with the Amazon people, the Priests of Rathma, the Barbarian tribes, the Zann Esu clan of sorceresses, and the sacred Order of Paladins. Each of these five peoples used this knowledge to craft one unearthly artifact, which was to be wielded by their greatest champions. Brought together (and wielded by the legendary heroes), these five artifacts were one of the greatest forces the world of Sanctuary has ever witnessed. They could wipe out entire armies in the blink of an eye, crush fortresses into dust, split mountains asunder, blacken the sun, and cause all kinds of natural calamities, which are undoubtedly quite exaggerated, as is typical for legends and folklore tales."

Bastaran did not have to look at his comrades to know that they were still speechless.

"When the fires of the Sin War died out, the five heroes decided that the artifacts were too powerful to be left in the hands of simple mortals. Therefore, they ventured into the coldest and harshest of lands, the eternally frozen north, where they constructed an underground vault – the Hall of Heroes. The hall is separated into five chambers... and each of them holds one of these legendary artifacts. This, my friends, is the prize that we are after. And since you keep asking how much longer until we reach this place, you will be pleased to hear that we have arrived."

Bastaran's companions finally started moving. Baldric was the first to react to what they had just heard.

"Well, Basta, I always knew you were insane, but if this treasure is even remotely as good as you say it is – I'd gladly go insane myself just to be able to share your joy when we finally get our hands on it!"

"I am glad you are so eager to help," Bastaran replied, "We have followed all instructions very precisely up to this point. There is only one last thing to do, and our dear Alystra is the one to help us. The ancient scroll says that once we have reached the southern side of the tooth-shaped hill, we are to take fifty steps around its base, exactly like an Amazon on the trail of a wounded Cimmerian Panther. Alystra?"

"I know exactly what that means, Basta," she smiled in response, "Just tell me where to start from and what direction I should take."

"I knew I wouldn't regret taking you with us," Bastaran said, "Our campfire lies in the exact starting point. Move in the direction followed by the winter sun during the season when the horizon burns with the deepest of blood-red. You should already know what that means, as we got this information from those kind barbarians whose arms and legs you intended to break..."

Alystra did not need a second invitation – she started walking in the correct direction in a peculiar manner. The men watched very carefully, yet none of them could remember and repeat her moves afterwards.

Alystra stopped under a small rock outcropping. It looked almost like an entrance to something, yet there was no door. The ice-covered wall was completely smooth without any sign of anything hiding behind it.

"Well, my friends, this is it. Now we will find out if the Hall of Heroes is real or merely a stupid old legend. Chaugran, did you bring the tool I requested?"

"Of course." – The pirate opened his backpack and produced a small wooden container with a small rope coming out of it. "The fuse is still dry. Good."

He placed the container next to the featureless wall and ignited the small piece of rope.

"Stand back!"

A loud explosion broke the silence, sending resounding echoes across the vast frozen wastes. When the smoke cleared, Bastaran stood in front of the torn wall with his eyes closed. He waited for about a minute, then opened them.

There was a tunnel beyond the hole in the rock and a vague light was visible somewhere in its depths. Bastaran had spent so much time preparing for a potential disappointment that he was quite shocked to realize that the Hall of Heroes was indeed beckoning him.

"Blessed ancestors," murmured Baldric, "The damn thing is real. All these obscure tales and tavern stories have actually led us to real loot! Well, what are waiting for, let's..."

"Not so fast," Bastaran interrupted him, "While the Hall of Heroes holds prizes beyond the wildest fantasies of greed, it also contains numerous devious traps and trials for one to prove his worth. We must proceed carefully. Chaugran, light up a few torches and put the campfire out. We don't need any unwanted attention, even in such a desolate place. One can never be too cautious... Pack up the gear and ready your weapons. We are going in..."

As all preparations were finished, the four treasure hunters assembled in their standard battle formation. This is what they usually did when they were about to enter an ancient underworld, yet this was promising to be unlike anything they had experienced so far.

Standing against the howling wind, Bastaran the Fallen took a deep breath and stepped forth into the greatest quest of his life...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2/4 – Descent into Darkness**

Despite the fierce cold outside, the tunnel they walked through was quite warm. The air was not stale at all and there were no traces of cobwebs and any of the other typical "decorations" of decrepit tombs that had remained sealed for countless centuries.

"The air is so fresh in here," noticed Chaugran, "I believe this is a good sign."

"I disagree," replied Bastaran," This is a clear sign that powerful spells are at work in this place. And this reminds me that I should give you these..."

Bastaran reached into his larger pocket and took out several small sparkling crystals on metallic chains.

"Chromatic amulets?" Baldric said," You expect to come under elemental attacks in this place?"

"When the Hall of Heroes was built," Bastaran replied, "The five great heroes called upon a great sorcerer, belonging to the oldest order of elementalists in the world of Sanctuary. These powerful men hailed from the distant land of Xiansai and they could weave countless spells and even create material objects _ex nihilo_ by combining the five basic elements of the universe – Earth, Fire, Air, Water, and Darkness..."

"Darkness?" Chaugran responded, "How could you possibly put this next to the other four? We have all heard of..."

"It makes perfect sense if you could stop and think before you open your mouth," Alystra interrupted, "There is nothing but darkness filling the infinite void between the worlds and the stars that you see at night. Darkness is all you can find in the deepest reaches of the world that had never been touched by the sun. As you see, this element has an undeniable presence in the universe and therefore holds great power for those that can wield it."

Chaugran murmured something unintelligible in response and kept walking forward. The tunnel started to descend, deeper under the frozen surface of the earth. Ahead there was a visibly darker room.

"I just hope this won't end like our adventure in Braecourt," Baldric whispered, "That was the most shameful event in my entire life!"

"Why? What happened there?" Alystra asked.

Bastaran couldn't resist laughing – "Well, let's just say that we spent the whole day digging through the foulest mud to get to the supposed tomb of an infamous bandit lord that was rumored to hold an immense hoard of treasure buried with him. Tired and dirty, we finally dug out a heavy chest, opened it... and the only thing inside was an old sash. It was so damn old that it was covered with cracks all over!"

Alystra started laughing too and it wasn't very common for her to do that.

"This is what life is like, Basta," she said, "Sometimes you get a pile of gold, other times – a cracked sash.***** What really matters is that you never give up. Sooner of later, fortune will find you and..."

She stopped talking suddenly as all light disappeared. The four treasure hunters found themselves in complete darkness.

"Hold on, something must have extinguished our torches. Chaugran, light yours," Bastaran ordered.

"Sure, just let me check if there is something on it... AAAAARGH, DAMN IT!" Chaugran screamed with pain. "I burned my hand – the torch is still burning! Yet it gives off no light!"

Bastaran carefully moved his hand closer to his own torch. Indeed, he felt its heat despite the complete lack of any light.

"I suspected we would run into this," He whispered, "A pocket of pure elemental darkness, the element that our dear Chaugran found so hard to accept. Both natural and magical light sources are helpless against this. The only thing that can possibly help us is the way sound resonates within the room. I have heard Amazons are very skillful at this..."

"Of course they are," Alystra replied, her voice clearly indicating that she felt very proud about it, "While you men were chattering, I felt that there is an opening to the left. An exit, perhaps?"

The four adventurers started moving carefully in the given direction. As they got closer, another scream of pain broke the silence. This time it was Baldric.

"I think I already told you not to touch your torch – it is still burning!" Chaugran said.

"I didn't! Something just stabbed me in the leg!" Baldric exclaimed.

The light returned just as suddenly as it had disappeared. The four adventurers found themselves in a larger and well-lit stone chamber. Indeed, there was a small wooden dart sticking out of Baldric's leg. The wound was bleeding heavily.

"Where did that come from?" Bastaran wondered. "It was completely silent in the room."

"Only a man as clumsy as Baldric could activate a trap that everyone else could avoid," Alystra sneered, "Truth be told, I am quite puzzled myself. I have fought against the foul midgets in the jungles near Kurast and I could hear their dart blowers from a mile away. Yet, this time I didn't hear anything... it was as if that thing came out of nowhere."

Chaugran carefully pulled the dart from Baldric's leg and examined it closely. He approached it to his mouth and licked it, then spat with disgust.

"Poison, as I suspected. You are lucky I brought along a few antidote potions. They will save your life, but you will feel sick, weak, and disoriented for several hours. You won't be able to continue with the rest of us."

"Fine. I just need some rest. You keep going without me," Baldric replied with a faint voice, "I am not much of a fighter or adventurer anyway. Basta, carry on without me. Bring back some loot, even if it is just another cracked sash."

Bastaran smiled – "I agree. If you notice any sign of trouble, shout as much as you can. Hopefully, we will hear you and come to help you. We will try to come back as fast as we can."

"Don't be in a hurry on my account," the wounded man whispered, "Old Baldric has had his fair share of misery and suffering before, I can handle this now..."

Chaugran gave Baldric a few throwing knives and a canteen of water. He also handed him a small healing potion and told him to drink it slowly. Then, the two men and the Amazon continued their journey through the unknown depths...

Bastaran noticed that the walls were covered with paintings depicting scenes of battle – large armies rushed against each other and clashed in whirlwinds of blood and severed limbs. Standing above the massacre were five figures, three male and two female, each of them holding an object surrounded by an aura of great power. That power permeated the battlefields, smiting the evil and bringing the fallen righteous back to life. Somewhere in the background was a lone figure with wings, like an Archangel that stood like an impartial observer, yet seemed to be planning everything like a puppeteer.

* * *

The corridor ended in a larger circular hall. It was completely empty with the exception of a small cloud of brown mist that hanged in the center of the room. Bastaran was about to say that they should try not to approach it when a hideous screeching sound was heard. The brown cloud grew into a swirling funnel of dark brown dust that stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling.

"It cannot be..." Bastaran gasped with surprise, "I had read about this but never imagined I'd see it in reality. A rust storm – an ancient spell that will devour and annihilate our weapons and armor. We must leave this room, fast!"

Bastaran ran along the right wall of the room, while Chaugran and Alystra went to the left. Basta could feel the rust storm pulling all metal items that he was carrying towards itself. The small dagger that he carried on his belt flew out of its scabbard and disappeared into the brown vortex. He grasped his trusty old sword – he was not going to let it go that easily.

Chaugran was not as lucky – he lost his sword and all remaining throwing knives before he could run out of the room. Alystra leaped forward and flew through the exit door without losing anything.

"I'd be damned if I let that thing take away my Matriarchal Javelin!" she exclaimed, "I defeated a fully grown Reziarfg with it and I'm not giving it up just like that. You can still see some of the foul beasts' dried blood on the blade."

Bastaran checked his pockets once again – nothing else was missing.

"Well, apparently the Ancients wished to even the odds a little bit," he said, "This demonstration of power was both a warning and a test. We were lucky this time – if we had hesitated a moment longer, we would have lost all of our vital equipment. A rust storm can devour countless items and still be hungry for more!"

"This is something I had definitely not encountered before," Chaugran replied, still trying to catch his breath, "I had broken into many ancient tombs before, but none of them had such unusual traps. Unbreakable darkness, a rust storm... this place is really trying to scare us away."

"It is only scaring so far," Alystra added, "I am a bit worried what will happen when it decides to hurt us for real. Baldric's little accident was just a polite warning. We have yet to see the deadlier traps. Basta, didn't you mention something about trials that we would have to face?"

"Yes I did, at least that is what I know from the ancient texts," Bastaran answered, "We would have to prove our worth every time we try to seize one of the artifacts kept in the Hall of Heroes. These tests will be different and very specific. And one more thing – we will only have one chance to try to pass them. In the best case, failure will deny us possession of one of the artifacts we are after. In the worst case, failure will result in death..."

Bastaran stood up and urged the others to follow him. He felt that they were very close to their goal.

The walls of the corridor they walked through were also covered with paintings depicting more stories of battles and heroics. Bastaran saw a beautifully drawn temple, yet there was something dark and terrible seething in the depths beneath it. Its black tentacles reached upwards, trying to ensnare the simple townsfolk in the small village that was near the church. He also saw the image of a monastery, and in its middle stood a great woman. She looked more like a demon than human, and her shadow fell over the entire countryside, corrupting anything it touched. Then, there was the picture of a great desert and seven great doors in the wall of canyon. Something evil and sinister was pouring from these doors, slowly consuming the sparkling sands, making its way towards the large city that rose above the wasteland. A little further was the picture of a great city within a dense jungle. Within the heart of the city was a malevolent being, driving its inhabitants mad with bloodlust, turning them against the inhabitants of other cities like a swarm of locusts. Finally, there was a painting of a tall and proud mountain, yet there were countless legions of foul creatures surrounding it from all sides, climbing towards the summit, trying to breach it and get inside it. Bastaran could only wonder what these images meant...

The adventurers reached a spiraling stairwell and started to descend, even deeper... They found themselves in a magnificent pentagonal hall. The stairwell led to the room's center, and there were five other doors along the flawless marble walls, which were decorated with intricate and unearthly beautiful ornaments of sparkling gold. There could be no doubt that this was the Hall of Heroes and the five doors were the entrances to the chambers where the great artifacts were laid to rest. Above each door was a magical symbol, etched in a plate of finest crystal.

"Well, this definitely doesn't look like the hiding place of another cracked sash," Chaugran uttered, his hands shaking with excitement. "I wish old Baldric could see this."

"Open your eyes wide," Bastaran said, not paying attention to what the other man was saying, "For very few mortals have ever seen this. This, my friends, is one of the most legendary sites our world has ever witnessed."

"Splendid," Alystra replied, "So, how can we recognize what lies behind each door?"

"That is quite simple, actually," Bastaran stepped closer to one of the doors, "You see these symbols above the doors? They represent the five universal elements. They will tell us which hero each room is dedicated to."

Bastaran took out a bunch of his own notes from his pocket and checked something in them.

"Yes, yes... This door is marked with the glyph of Darkness. This element is usually associated with the boundary between life and death, therefore it must be the symbol of the Necromancer. Water flows like the eternal ebbs and tides of arcane power – this element best fits the Sorceress. Fire clearly represents the fierce spirit and passion of the Barbarian. Earth is the strong foundation of a Paladin's faith and training. Air can only symbolize the speed and finesse of a true Amazon warrior."

Bastaran took a few more steps around the room and looked at his companions with a determined expression on his face.

"I am Bastaran the Fallen, champion of the Lands of the Eastern Sun, and I will not leave this place without my prize! Take some rest, my friends. Then we will face the five challenges... and prevail!"

* * *

*** Cracked Sash **– one of the most frequently dropprf items in the Blood Moor (Normal) when you start the game eith a Level 1 character.

Cracked sashes were the object of many jokes on the PlanetDiablo forums.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3/4 – Trial by Fire**

"If anyone wishes to quit, now is your chance. We can go back and tell everyone that the Hall of Heroes is nothing but a myth. I doubt they would come all the way here to check if we told the truth..." Bastaran said after taking a good look at the five doors.

Chaugran grimaced with disapproval and Alystra took out her trusty bow.

"We came all the way here, the least we can do is to give it a try," she said, "Running away is the last thing on my mind."

"Well then, let us go forth... I think we should start with the Necromancer challenge." Bastaran stepped a little closer to the do marked with the symbol of darkness.

"Hmph, I don't like them Necromancers or whatever they are. I believe something very nasty awaits us beyond this door," Chaugran murmured.

"That is why we should visit this place first, silly," Alystra countered, "If there really is something very bad here, it would be best for us to deal with it before anything else."

* * *

The three treasure hunters stood in front of the door. Above it was an inscription etched in the stone.

"_The right tool will clear the way._" Bastaran read aloud. "I suppose this is a piece of advice to guide us through the challenge."

The room they found themselves in was pentagonal and seemingly without a floor. A pit of impenetrable darkness stretched from wall to wall, with only a narrow bridge leading from the room's entrance to a platform in the other end. There, on a small block of obsidian rested a small chest made of copper. There was another, and smaller, platform in the middle of the bridge. Lying there was a pile of ominously black bones. As they approached the bridge, the adventurers noticed that the ceiling was decorated with the painting of a grey robe-clad figure with angelic wings, holding scythes in its hands.

"Look at that," Chaugran whispered, "This must be the Archangel of Death!"

"You are wrong, this is actually Malthael, the Archangel of Wisdom," Alystra replied, "This is somehow related to the core philosophy of the Priests of Rathma. Strangely, some of the Necromancers I have met do refer to him as the Archangel of Death. I have no idea why..."

As they talked, Bastaran approached the platform in the middle of the bridge. The moment his foot touched it, a slight tremor was felt and the pile of bones started to move. Three black skeletons were quickly formed, each of them armed with a heavy mace. Every mace was crowned with a bright halo of light on its top, making it look even more menacing. Ghostly green flames filled the skeletons' empty eye sockets and their unliving gazes were fixed upon Bastaran.

The skeletons stood completely still, as if waiting for Bastaran to do something. He moved another inch forward and the skeletons raised their maces, in perfect synchrony. The gesture was undoubtedly threatening. Bastaran quickly moved back to the entrance of the room. A low hissing noise was heard and three skeletons collapsed, once again turning into a lifeless heap of bones.

"I think I understand what is going on – these undead guardians would arise every time we approach them," Bastaran said, "We need to find a way to defeat them."

"I don't know about you, but I am not quite eager to get anywhere close to these glowing maces," Chaugran replied.

"This was the strange thing," Alystra added, "The maces seemed to be charged with holy energy. It is known for destroying the undead. Why would they carry something so dangerous for them, or use it as a weapon?"

"Something tells me we are supposed to turn that power against its wielders..." Bastaran murmured, "But how? We can't just pry them out of their cold dead fingers."

"What did that inscription say?" Alystra asked, "The right tool will clear the way – so, where is the tool?"

The heroes looked around, trying to find something they had not noticed earlier. And there it was – Chaugran noticed a small wooden box attached to the underside of the bridge they walked on. Alystra wasted no time and used her natural flexibility to reach and retrieve the box.

Bastaran lifted the lid and was even more surprised by what he saw inside. The box was divided into four compartments, each filled with a substance. The first was full of clay, the second with blood, the third with old iron nails, and the last – with ashes. Attached on the lower side of the lid was a short wand. Bastaran muttered something to himself and started rummaging through his pockets.

"This looks somewhat familiar," Alystra spoke, "These represent the four basic building materials of golems. Clay, Blood, Iron, and Fire. A Necromancer's tools are his summoned creatures. So we need to determine what golem we need... and how to summon it."

"That won't be a problem," Bastaran responded, putting away the small crystal that he had taken out of his pocket, "I was able to identify, to an extent, the nature of the magic within this wand. I believe it contains one charge of a golem creation spell. We have only one shot at this, and we'd better make the right choice. Chaugran, I think you knew some things about Necromancers and their spells. Can you help us?"

Chaugran frowned. "I am not sure. I have heard some things about the nature of golems. I know one type could burn its enemies with its mere presence. That must be the property of the Fire Golem. Another type is bound to its creator and shares with him any life it can steal but it also shares the punishment it receives. That must be the Blood Golem. Another type could slow its enemies down with its touch... I am not sure about this, but I know what it feels like to trudge through a heap of soft clay. So I believe this is the innate quality of a Clay Golem. As for the Iron Golem, I only know that it has been gifted with one of the Necromancers' favorite tricks..."

"Necromancers have many tricks, my friend," Bastaran replied, "But I know that one of them is damage reflection. Perhaps this is the right tool we need. If none of you objects, I will try to create an Iron Golem and hope that it can reflect the damage it receives."

Chaugran and Alystra nodded and Bastaran pointed the wand towards the pile of iron nails. He urged his willpower and focused it at the wand. A strange noise was heard and the nails melted into an amorphous puddle. Then it started to expand and formed into a crude and shiny humanoid figure. The Golem was successfully summoned.

Bastaran focused his willpower once again, expecting the Golem to start walking down the bridge, yet the creature only took a few clumsy steps and stopped. It was leaning forward, as if it was going to fall over any moment. Another effort of will – the creature turned around and took a few uncertain steps towards the middle of the bridge, still leaning from one side to another like an old drunkard.

"Damn!" Bastaran exclaimed, "It seems so easy when a real Necromancer does it! Their golems can run, climb, jump, and do all sorts of other things. Mine can hardly take a few steps without shaking. I can't imagine how many years of training it takes to master this dark art."

Bastaran sat down on the floor so that he could concentrate better. The Golem finally stood upright and started walking slowly towards the pile of bones. As before, a tremor was felt and the pile turned into three black skeletons. Their burning gazes were fixed on the unlikely metallic intruder. Another step. The skeletons raised their maces in the familiar threatening gesture. Another step. The maces swooped down in synchrony, touching the Golem at the same moment. A loud crash was heard and the three skeletons simultaneously exploded into a thousand small pieces. The way was clear.

The heroes cheered and moved forward to claim their prize. Bastaran made what he believed to be a "releasing gesture" and the Golem once again dissolved into a shapeless pile of metal. They didn't need the construct anymore – the contents of the copper chest were far more interesting.

Bastaran slowly lifted the lid. Inside were a pouch and several unusual skulls. They all had small gems inserted into their foreheads.

"Perfect skulls – these are very rare," Bastaran whispered, "A natural skull can sometimes be flawless, but never perfect. The Priests of Rathma learned how to attach focusing gems to the skulls – enhancing their energies to be on par with the power of perfect gems."

The pouch seemed normal until the heroes noticed that it was pulsating from time to time. A quiet beating noise could be heard from the inside.

"What is this?" Chaugran asked, "It's as if there is a beating heart within that pouch."

"This is exactly what it is," Bastaran said slowly, "This, my friends, is the **Heart of Darkness**, the mighty artifact that the Necromancers placed within the Hall of Heroes. The legend says that it contains some of the blood of Trang-Oul, the mystical dragon that was the source of Rathma's powers. When a Necromancer holds the Heart in his hand, it would multiply his power to extreme proportions. Imagine summoning entire undead legions with a gesture, placing a curse upon the population of an entire city, or creating a violent storm of bone shards that can tear castles apart. That is the power of the Heart of Darkness!"

"Blessed ancestors!" Chaugran exclaimed, "One can only wonder how these Necromancers haven't taken over the entire world of Sanctuary."

"The Priests of Rathma do not care about conquest," Alystra replied, "They observe the Balance of the world and intervene only when it is seriously threatened."

Bastaran carefully placed the pouch inside his sturdy backpack.

"We'd better not open it," he whispered, "None of us is trained to wield such necromantic power. I don't wish to incur the wrath of Trang-Oul, and it was said that he can always feel if the Heart is being used for upholding Balance or for personal gain. Don't forget to pick up the skulls – they are very valuable!"

* * *

The heroes left the room and returned to the central chamber. They felt more confident now that they had passed one of the challenges. Bastaran approached the door marked with the symbol of water.

"This is the Sorceress's challenge. I expect something more peaceful, but we will all wear Chromatic Amulets just in case. Look, there is an inscription above the door here as well... _To melt the ice, you must first thaw the heart_. Hmm, sounds cryptic."

Bastaran quickly changed his mind when he entered the room. The air was so cold that the flames on their torches were nearly extinguished. The room was well-lit by an invisible source so the torches were not that important in any case.

Standing in the middle of the room was the statue of a Sorceress, dressed in an elaborate tunic and with a massive staff in her hands. Behind the statue was a massive block of ice. Encased within it was a silver chest.

"So, are we going to break this thing up or what?" Chaugran asked.

Bastaran was confused. It seemed way too simple for a challenge. He would soon find out how right he was.

Chaugran grasped his trusty axe and made a mighty swing, breaking away a large piece of the ice. He gasped with surprise when the ice was restored to its initial condition before he could even blink. He struck the ice block a few more times and it repaired itself every time. It happened unnaturally fast – magic was definitely involved.

"Hey, Chaugran, it would be nice if you learn to use your brain as well as your muscles," Alystra said, "Let's stop for a second and think. What did the inscription say? To melt the ice, you must thaw the heart?"

"Indeed," Bastaran confirmed, "But I can't understand what they meant by that. Any heat source we have is useless in this cold."

"And I can't see any boxes with useful tools either. Whatever we do, we do it on our own," Chaugran added.

"Perhaps the instruction is a metaphor," Bastaran continued, "Thaw the heart, thaw the heart... what can possibly thaw someone's heart? I wonder if..."

Bastaran approached the Sorceress statue. The carving was masterpiece. The face was exceptionally well done. It looked almost as if it were alive.

"Alright," Alystra started, "This has to be a riddle. If we do something specific the protective spell would fall and the ice block will become breakable, something that you, men, will definitely enjoy. But before that... WHAT THE... Bastaran, are you KISSING that statue?!"

The Amazon and the old pirate were amazed to see Bastaran's face up against the statue's. At first he hesitated, then he kissed the Sorceress's stony lips with all the passion that he could muster.

Chaugran was going to say something but he turned around when he heard a splashing sound. The ice block was melting. When Bastaran finally moved away from the statue, the block was completely gone and only a puddle of water and the freed silver chest remained in its place.

"A good kiss," Bastaran explained, "Is the best way to warm the heart of any woman. Besides, love is the most powerful form of magic known to mortals and immortals alike. And this is the solution to the riddle. Now let us claim our prize."

"Oh, I see," Alystra murmured, "But if you ever try to melt an Amazon's heart like this, you will probably have your tongue bitten off! Don't say I didn't warn you..."

Bastaran kneeled down and slowly lifted the chest's lid. Inside were several spellbooks written in an unknown language as well as a smaller silver box that seemed to glow with its own internal light. Basta carefully opened it, only enough to see what is inside and then closed it again.

"Just as I expected – the legendary **Tools of the Trade**. With these, a capable mage will be able to create new spells or modify existing ones. When a nasty situation cannot be solved with the spells you have available, you can simply create entirely new spells with the Tools. This is a mighty artifact indeed!"

"The Vizjerei will pay a fortune and a half to get their hands on this," Chaugran smiled, "Besides we can try to use them too. It would be nice if we can craft a new spell that can fix leaking roofs. I am too lazy to do it myself."

"Interesting suggestion, my friend," Bastaran replied, "But I doubt any of us has the necessary knowledge to use the Tools. We might inadvertently disintegrate ourselves if we are not careful. We should make sure we leave these in capable hands."

The adventurers left the room and moved towards the next door.

* * *

"So, are we going to visit all of these places?" Chaugran asked.

"Sure, why not," Basta replied, "We have done well so far. And I feel that no challenge is hard enough to scare away Bastaran the Fallen... so let's go."

A gust of hot air blew from the doorway marked with the symbol of fire. Beyond it awaited the Barbarian challenge. Bastaran stopped in front of it and read the inscription above it.

"_In war – we fight; in peace – we celebrate._ Yes, this is a somewhat accurate description of the barbarian mentality. But how does this help us?"

"Let's go in and find out," Chaugran said, "I just hope we won't have to fight against something nasty."

A curtain of acrid smoke concealed the room's interior. As the three adventurers went deeper, it cleared and they could see a large room filled with huge burning braziers. Small rivulets of molten metal flowed through tiny canals within the sooty floor. A circular pit filled with a roaring fire was in the center of the room. At the far end was a great obsidian sarcophagus with a huge bronze lid resting on it.

"Hmm, they don't expect us to lift that thing, right?" Alystra murmured, "It looks too darn heavy even for a bunch of real Barbarians to handle."

Bastaran was about to say something but he was interrupted by a thunder-like sound. A colossal Barbarian warrior had appeared out of think air. He was very tall, towering above the treasure hunters like a castle spire. His muscular arms seemed as massive as tree trunks, his fists looked more like steel mauls than human hands, and his eyes glowed with an eerie inner fire.

The huge Barbarian spoke with a booming voice, which sounded as if it came from the bottom of a very deep pit.

"Prove your worth – through war... or through peace." As he said the last words, the warrior stretched his arms forward. He held a blood-splattered axe in one, and a piece of bread in the other.

"It seems we have to choose our challenge," Alystra remarked, "And since we all agreed that we are not in the disposition to fight this guy, we'd better prove ourselves through peace."

Chaugran stepped forth and approached the colossal barbarian. He raised his hand and pointed at the bread.

"In peace we celebrate!" boomed the barbarian's voice. Just then another thunder-like sound was heard and something appeared over the circular fire pit. It was a skinned rabbit on a spit, ready to be roasted.

"Well, Chaugran, I guess you will have to prove how good a cook you are," Bastaran said with a smile, "I hope you can prepare this rabbit Barbarian-style. I'd recommend you leave it a bit raw, with some fresh blood still left in it."

Chaugran stepped forth confidently and started rotating the spit slowly over the fire. As the minutes passed, his smile faded – the rabbit remained unchanged, as if the fire did not give off any heat.

"Something is wrong here," Bastaran murmured, "By this time, there should at least be the smell or roasting meat... the rabbit looks just as raw as in the beginning."

"Well, unless this thing is fire-immune, I don't really know what's going on," Chaugran replied nervously, "Am I doing something wrong?"

"You have to do it the way barbarians do – with passion!" Alystra said, "This room was marked by the symbol of fire, right? Fire stands for emotion and wild spirit – that's what you need."

"Remember what the inscription said," Bastaran added, "In peace they celebrate... well, you can at least pretend to be celebrating. Come on, sing a song – you know so many of them!"

"Sing a song, eh? Well, let's see what will come up to my mind..." Chaugran replied.

He turned the rabbit a few more times, shook his head and started to sing an old pirate song in the ancient tongue of the desert tribes of Aranoch.

As he sang, he also started to dance – slowly at first, yet he got faster and faster as the passion took over. Just then, the rabbit started to show the first signs of roasting.

"Keep it up," Basta yelled, "It's starting to smell really good. Some more dancing and pirate songs will get that thing cooked in no time!"

A few minutes later the rabbit was roasted. The huge barbarian grabbed the spit and took a large bite from the meat. He grunted with approval.

"Worthy!" his voice boomed. Without dropping the rabbit, he grabbed the heavy bronze lid with one hand and lifted it without the slightest effort. A final thunder-like sound was heard and he disappeared, together with the rabbit.

"Disgusting savage! He could have at least left us some of the meat," Alystra protested, "These challenges make me hungry."

The adventurers approached the open sarcophagus and saw a dazzling collection of treasures, the trophies of long-forgotten wars. Among the items they noticed a bronze chest, which radiated palpable power. Bastaran slowly lifted the lid and found a drinking horn filled with an aromatic red liquid inside.

"Well, if I am not mistaken," he whispered with reverence, "This must be the legendary **Bloodfury** – a drink that looks, smells and tastes like the finest mead... and yet bestows great power upon the drinker. When a barbarian warrior drinks from that, he enters an unnatural berserk rage, gaining the strength and agility of one hundred men. Moreover, the drink makes the user highly resilient to damage – both physical and magical. A mighty artifact indeed!"

"Be careful not to spill it," Chaugran remarked, "I don't want all that singing and dancing to have been for nothing."

"Fear not, my friend," Bastaran responded, "No matter how much you pour out of the horn, it will never run out. You'd be amazed how fast it refills itself."

"Perhaps we can use this to aid us in beating the last two challenges?" Alystra proposed.

"That would be a mistake," Bastaran said, "Drinking Bloodfury can drive you into a wild bestial rage that will destroy your sanity. The risk is too great. Only a fully-trained and experienced barbarian warrior could possibly control this rage and survive its volatile side effects."

* * *

As they talked, they had reached the next door. It was the Paladin challenge – marked with the symbol of earth. The inscription above the door read: _Without faith, you are nothing._

The three adventurers walked in carefully and found themselves in a clean and orderly room. Hanging on the walls were numerous swords and shields bearing unfamiliar crests. On the floor there were more weapons, ornate helmets, and several ancient battle standards that probably belonged to great armies – now carefully folded and placed among the other paraphernalia of war. At the far end of the room was a massive wooden desk with an iron chest resting on it.

Chaugran could not notice any threat in the room and stepped forward. Just then, one of the swords hanging on the wall came to life – it flew straight out of its scabbard and hung ominously in the air. It took a position between the adventurers and the wooden desk, slashing several times through the air in an apparently threatening manner.

"Well, I don't know how we can get past this thing," Chaugran said, "But my intuition tells me singing and dancing won't help us this time."

Alystra tried to sneak forward, and a few seconds later she had to jump back to avoid the sweeping blade.

"That thing is way too fast!" she exclaimed, "It anticipates my movements with great precision. Even an Amazon can't sneak past this sword."

Bastaran looked at the iron chest once again. They had come too far to quit now.

"I have an idea," he said slowly, "But it is very risky and foolish. It seems to be the logical thing to do but it could easily get me killed."

"What are you planning to do?" Alystra asked.

Bastaran did not reply. He simply walked forward, a little closer to the flying sword. The blade reacted to his approach and started to vibrate slightly, as if preparing to attack. Then Bastaran stopped... and kneeled down on the floor, assuming a prayer position. The sword took a position right above his head, ready to fall at any moment.

"Basta, look out! Get out of there!" Chaugran yelled.

Bastaran did not move. He didn't even turn his eyes to look at the sword hanging above his head. Then the blade swooped down straight towards his neck... and stopped suddenly. Bastaran could almost feel the blade against his skin. It could have killed him but it didn't. The sword slowly rose in the air and went back into its scabbard. The challenge was over.

"Bastaran, I swear this was the most insane and disturbing thing I have ever seen," Alystra said, still recovering from the surprise, "How did you know?"

"Simple," Bastaran replied, "The advice above the door pointed me in the right direction. A Paladin's strength springs from his faith, and without faith he is nothing. So, I had faith that the sword will not strike me down... And it worked!"

"Basta, just promise you won't take such risks again," Chaugran sighed, "I don't remember ever being more afraid in my life than I was a minute ago."

Bastaran smiled and approached the iron chest. The lid opened without effort – inside were several flasks of holy water, a silver chalice, some incense, and a heavy book that seemed to be bound together from several different types of paper. Bastaran picked it up with veneration.

"The **Astral Codex**... even I couldn't believe it was real. Notice how there are five different types of paper? Each represents one of the five supreme Archangels that rule in Heaven and lead its armies in the Great Conflict. The red pages correspond to the Archangel of Valor, containing potent spells of destruction. The blue pages correspond to the Archangel of Hope, containing prayers for healing, recovery and fertility. The grey pages contain arcane verses by the Archangel of Fate, through which one can even the odds of any battle by summoning angelic warriors to fight for the cause of good. The black pages hold mystic formulae by the Archangel of Wisdom, which give intellectual enlightenment and protection from evil. And finally – the golden pages, corresponding to the Archangel of Justice, known to mortals as Tyrael, containing ceremonial incantations, which can be used to bring a dead man back to life – a true resurrection, not raising them as undead. A Paladin possessing this book can fight with the ferocity of an entire army and bring peace to entire kingdoms..."

Chaugran and Alystra could not say anything – they were mesmerized by Bastaran's tale. They touched the book with reverence and felt somewhat refreshed afterwards...

* * *

There was only one challenge left – the Amazon room. Alystra stepped forward and read the inscription above the door:

"_Trust your instincts._ Well, this is what they tell us when our warrior training begins. It is a principle that we follow strictly in any situation. But how could it help us... I'll go first, you men stay behind me!"

A visible change came over Alystra – now she looked more like the leader of an army sneaking into enemy territory. A poisoned arrow was already placed in her bow.

The room was filled with fog, through which several jungle-like plants could be seen. It was as if a tiny forest grew inside the confines of the room. Alystra felt right at home. The adventurers made their way slowly through the vegetation, expecting something bad to happen at any moment. Then, they came upon a clearing. In its center was a sacrificial altar with a golden chest resting on it.

"Right, here is the prize," Alystra whispered, "But I can't see the challenge yet. I just hope it's not another Reziarfg. I'm not in the mood for fighting one of them right now."

Just then a screeching noise filled the air. A misshapen creature, a disgusting cross-breed between a frog and a cockroach, emerged from the opposite end of the clearing. Its numerous eyes were fixed on the adventurers, several foamy mouths opened, revealing huge fangs. The creature took a position between the treasure hunters and the altar and roared angrily.

Bastaran and Chaugran looked at Alystra – they were expecting her to tell them what to do. She stared at the monster, not even daring to blink. Just then the expression of her face changed – she had an idea.

"Alright, listen carefully and do exactly what I tell you. Close your eyes and walk straight towards the creature."

"What? You can't possibly..." Chaugran started.

"Just close your eyes! Right now!" Alystra yelled.

Utterly confused, the two men closed their eyes and started walking forward as the Amazon told them. They expected to feel the burning breath of the creature any moment... possibly followed by the sharp claws.

But it didn't happen. Bastaran stopped when he felt the cold surface of the sacrificial altar with his hands. He opened his eyes. The monster was gone.

"Hey, where did it go?" he asked.

"It was never here," Alystra replied with a smile, "It was a mere illusion – a modified variation of an ancient Amazon skill known as _Decoy_, which allows us to create duplicates of ourselves. I didn't know it was possible to create and maintain such complex illusions – perhaps I should find out how it works and teach this trick to my sisters...

"But how did you know it was just a decoy?" Chaugran asked.

"I trusted my instincts, just as the advice said," Alystra replied, "Once our eyes were closed, the illusion was powerless. The only thing it could do was to admit its failure and disappear."

She approached the golden chest and put her hands on the lid.

"Please, don't be a cracked sash," she whispered.

Inside the chest were several exquisitely crafted arrows, a few flasks containing toxins for the arrowheads, a few healing herbs, and an object wrapped in cloth. It radiated great power.

Alystra unwrapped the artifact – it was a delicate diadem, seemingly made of spider silk, yet strong and unyielding, sparkling gently in the gloom.

"Basta, I think I should tell the story this time," Alystra spoke, "This can only be **Zerae's Will**, which grants its user control over the basic elements of nature in accordance with the Amazon understanding of the world – fire, frost and lightning... all of these could be bent to one's will and used in any form imaginable as mighty weapons against the enemies of the Amazon peoples. I am tempted to bring it back home, yet I realize that such power can bring more harm than good in the hands of ordinary mortals."

"Wisely said," Bastaran remarked, "We have plenty of time to decide what we are going to do with the artifacts. Well, our work here is done. We passed the trials and obtained five wondrous artifacts. Let's get out. Baldric is probably starting to get worried by now."

The three heroes left the Hall of Heroes behind and headed back to the surface. As they walked down the familiar corridors, however, Bastaran the Fallen couldn't shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen soon... very soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4/4 – Full Circle**

The breeze of fresh air was divine after the series of challenges they had faced underground. The adventurers emerged under the star-covered sky, their faces beaming with the sensation of triumph. They had just claimed some of the greatest artifacts in the history of the entire world of Sanctuary and now the songs of their glory would echo from one horizon to the other. Chaugran was eager to share the good news with Baldric, who had already crawled out of the dungeon and was resting in the camp.

"Hey, Baldric, you will never believe the things we saw and experienced down there," the old pirate yelled, "If only you could see Bastaran kissing that..."

"Quiet!" Baldric snapped from the darkness.

"Hey, take it easy, old man," Alystra scolded him gently, "It's not our fault you were so clumsy."

"We are not alone out here! Our camp is surrounded!" Baldric hissed.

Bastaran started to feel concerned. He carefully crawled near Baldric's position and looked carefully into the darkness that surrounded them. He listened intently, yet the night was completely silent. Even the wind had stopped and the air was still.

"Are you sure?" Bastaran whispered, "Perhaps the poison on that stake is affecting your senses?"

"I am not hallucinating, Basta!" Baldric replied, "I saw them – there are at least four of 'em. One pretty big and muscular man sand several smaller figures. One of them seems to be a woman."

Bastaran slowly crawled back to Alystra and whispered in her ear:

"Your senses are sharper than ours. What do you think? Is there someone lurking in the shadows?"

The Amazon scrutinized the surrounding with her piercing gaze and let out a heavy sigh – "I don't see anyone. But I do feel uneasy, as if there is a hidden threat nearby. Perhaps we should rely on the oldest trick in the book and simply ask?"

Ask? Bastaran simply shrugged and thought "why not." He got up and shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Heeeeey! Is there anyone out there?"

Silence. Eerie and all-consuming silence. The adventurer was starting to feel silly when a youthful female voice suddenly broke the silence.

"Maybe... maybe not. You are very curious, don't you think?"

It sounded playful, almost whimsical. Whoever that lass was, she sounded perfectly confident in her control over the situation.

"We are just a band of travelers," Bastaran shouted again, "We mean no harm to you and your people. Let us pass!"

"It is not you we are interested in," another voice replied – the cold and emotionless voice of a man who could probably stay perfectly calm even in the face of death itself, "It is the artifacts you carry that concern us. They _belong_ to us. Hand them over and you will be free to go."

Chaugran had already become quite irritated and yelled into the darkness:

"We fought bravely to win these prizes! We are leaving this place one way or another. Pull out your band of brigands and you will probably live long enough to see the next sunrise."

To emphasize his words, the man boldly stepped forward, in the direction the voice came from. He had barely taken a couple of steps when a blinding lightning bolt arced through the air and landed right in front of the tips of his boots, burning a small crater into the frozen soil. Chaugran jumped back and quickly took cover behind a large rock.

Bastaran frowned. Only a Zann Esu witch could wield elemental power with such precision. The woman was a Sorceress!

"Look can't we just reach an agreement of some sort?" he proposed, "I am sure we can offer you someth-"

"We shall agree on nothing less than the artifacts you have looted from this ancient vault," another male voice sounded, strong and determined – the voice of a man who was fanatically dedicated to his goals, "Hand them over and your lives will be spared. I give you my word!"

"What worth is your word, cutthroat?" Bastaran yelled again, "Let us wait until sunrise and then we can deal with you and your ilk as you deserve!"

Silence. Perhaps the mysterious stalkers were hesitating, though the adventurers themselves were not quite eager about facing an experienced Sorceress in combat. Basta crawled back to his companions.

* * *

"Well, this is our best option so far," he started, "Wait until the morning and fight them in the daylight when we can see exactly what we are dealing with. Our Chromatic Amulets should mitigate the effects of whatever elemental attacks the witch unleashes against us. The rest is up to our swords and armor."

"These guys surely sound determined," Chaugran added, "I am sure they would attempt to sneak upon us during the night. Maybe we can set up some traps?"

"A sound plan," Bastaran nodded, "But we are pretty low on supplies. I have a few fulminating potions and caltrops in my backpack, but we can't cover a large area with them. Alystra, do you have something we can use?"

"Let me see," the Amazon started rummaging through her bags, "I don't suppose you men can handle Maiden Javelins... or this bow... hey, here is something, I still have some of my envenomed wooden stakes. They are very useful for hunting!"

The woman pulled out a bundle of sharpened sticks. Baldric's eyes suddenly widened with surprise.

"Hey, wait a second!" he exclaimed, "These look exactly like the stick that I got in my leg while crossing the dark room!"

The others looked into the sticks. Indeed they were the same. Three gazes, dripping with suspicion, were fixed upon the Amazon. Alystra, however, did not seem worried at all. Her face expressed amusement.

"Well, I've never been very good at these charades," she explained laughing, "I was hoping Baldric's little incident would convince you to give up and leave the Hall of Heroes. But you, Bastaran the Fallen, proved to be more persistent than I had anticipated. I am impressed."

The three men's faces were still frozen in the grimaces of utter disbelief.

"You... are one of them?" Bastaran uttered.

"Of course I am," Alystra replied, "I have always been one of them. However, you will not understand the full significance of my statement until you see them up close."

The she turned towards the darkness and yelled: "Come closer. I blew my cover. Again. Show yourselves."

Four figures slowly approached. Bastaran could see them clearly now – a stout and muscular man with a huge axe, a man wearing shiny plate armor and brandishing a long sword, a thin and pale man with a cold expression on his face, and the Sorceress – dressed in the traditional colorful garments of her clan.

"Allow me to introduce them to you," Alystra started, "Fenris – a warrior from the clans of the frozen Blistering Waste. A true master of axe combat." (the Barbarian grinned)

"Marcus from Westmarch – a veteran knight and a devout Paladin of Zakarum. A bane to all things evil." (the Paladin saluted)

"Elaurin of the Zann Esu clan – mistress of frost and fire." (the Sorceress bowed)

"Last but not least – Rakkan, a priest of Rathma. Commands fearsome minions and spells that defy the boundaries between life and death." (the pale Necromancer greeted them with a strange gesture)

The three men were still standing still, trying to take in the scene that had just been revealed before their eyes. Everyone was thinking the same thing and Chaugran was the first to break the silence:

"It's just like the legendary heroes who built the Hall of Heroes. Except you are missing an Amazon."

"They are not," Bastaran replied, "Alystra is the fifth. She is their Amazon. Together they have recreated the legendary party from the mystic past."

"We are not just recreating," the Paladin spoke, "We are the latest reincarnation of a pattern that perpetuates throughout time and space. The five great heroes who stand up to defend humanity from the forces of darkness."

The skepticism on the faces of Bastaran, Chaugran and Baldric was quite obvious, provoking the Barbarian to interject:

"We are not the first band of five, nor are we the last." his voice boomed like a distant thunderstorm, "The Ancients themselves came to me in a dream and told me that I was chosen for higher deeds. Just like the others were. If the Ancients have deemed us worthy, this is enough for me. And it should be enough for you." The warrior gently caressed the bade of his axe as he spoke the last words.

"If what you speak is true," Bastaran replied, "Why has this band of heroes gathered once again? Why here, why now?"

"The Dark Exile has come to pass, as was foretold," the Necromancer's cold voice was heard once again, "No doubt you have heard about the evil that is loose in the land. The Prime Evils themselves have been made manifest into the world of Sanctuary and now the power of the five artifacts is needed once again. We shall aid the Horadrim in their quest to vanquish these Patriarchs of evil and ensure the future of humanity."

Bastaran could not disagree. He had witnessed first-hand the atrocities that were taking place far to the south. A great malevolence had settled into the world and many people were speaking in hushed voices about an upcoming apocalypse. The man sighed and then nodded in agreement.

"Wait... what?" Baldric was sincerely astonished, "You are not really going to give the artifacts to them?"

"I have to," Bastaran replied grimly, "They are right and you know it too. We had the great honor of touching one of the greatest treasures this world has ever seen, yet we were also unlucky enough to claim it just when it was needed the most. We cannot possibly stand in the way of prophesy – if the five are to rise once again, we have no right to be an impediment."

* * *

A heavy silence hung in the air for several minutes. Then Baldric and Chaugran silently admitted defeat and nodded. With a heavy heart, Bastaran the Fallen handed over the artifacts that they had fought so hard to claim.

"Thank you, you have made the right choice," Alystra assured him, "These artifacts will rally help in the battle against evil, and will fulfill their last duty well."

"Wait, what do you mean by _last_ duty?" Bastaran asked, his curiosity rekindled.

"After we have achieved our goal, the artifacts will be laid to rest for the last time," the Sorceress spoke softly, "And not even a seasoned treasure hunter like you will be able to find them again. Then the five will disband, but they will be reunited once again – centuries from now. This will be their final battle as well."

"I do not understand," Bastaran uttered.

"The party of five heroes after us will be the last," Alystra explained, "The calamity they will face will be so great that the world of Sanctuary will be changed forever. In fact, five heroes will not be enough to defeat the evil, and thus two more heroes will join the fight – the prophesies refer to them only as a man who changes his form, and a woman who can walk through the shadows. Whoever they are, I hope they are worthy of their five companions. The present depends on us, the five... but the future belongs to the _seven_."

Bastaran nodded again. He had heard these old Doomsday legends before. They were usually told by the Barbarian tribes, which believed that this final battle would take place in their homelands, near their holiest mountain... he had dismissed them as superstitious folklore back then, but after everything he had seen and heard, he was starting to believe they were true.

The five heroes were already preparing to leave, each of them holding the artifact that corresponded to their class. Alystra turned around to say her goodbyes.

"Thank you for your aid, gentlemen, even though you were unwitting pawns in this grand scheme of things. The adventure was amazing and I am glad I took a direct part in it," she glanced at the Barbarian who was obviously jealous that he had not had the chance to enter the Hall of Heroes and face their challenges, "And in case Bastaran feels cheated, perhaps this will be a good compensation."

The she tossed a rolled-up scroll to the treasure hunter, smiled and waved one last time. A few seconds later the five heroes had vanished into the darkness and the three adventurers were all alone.

"Great, so now we will return home, empty-handed." Chaugran murmured, "Next time – no legendary stuff. Just plain old tomb raiding."

Bastaran slowly unfolded the scroll and almost burst in laughter. Alystra surely knew how to make him happy – it was a map with numerous treasure spots marked on it. Old tombs, bandit hideouts, buried pirate booty, forgotten gem mines, and even an old Triune temple. They were going to be busy for a long time.

Bastaran waved the parchment before his companions' eyes and asked with a cunning smile: "So, gentlemen... are you ready to hunt down some more cracked sashes?"

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**Note: **The names of the five heroes are actual names that I have used for my Diablo II characters. Baron Rakkan, for example, is non-expansion Necromancer, Slayer Marcus is an expansion Paladin, etc.


End file.
